


Back to Nature

by ImGettingTooOldForThisShip



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Citronshipping, Fluff, M/M, Nature, Oneshot, Romance, Thiefshipping, forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImGettingTooOldForThisShip/pseuds/ImGettingTooOldForThisShip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having returned to his old body, Bakura fears that he is getting as soft as the modern world around him. To stop him moping around the house all day Malik drags him out on a hike so they can explore a forest together. Post-canon thiefshipping fluff ensues. (citronshipping?) Rated T for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Nature

Bakura turned the volume up on the television as the noise increased in the kitchen. He could hear the roar of a boiling kettle, a clatter of metal on metal and then an unmistakable hissing as something began sizzling in one of the pans. Malik had returned back late from the shops and had headed straight for the kitchen, muttering some complaint or other under his breath about how Bakura never thought to cook anything when he wasn’t there. Personally, Bakura didn’t understand why he would want him to cook the dinner anyway. He generally opted for the path of least resistance in the kitchen and if it wasn’t ramen, it was instant soup, neither of which Malik seemed to greatly appreciate.

The smells of sesame and garlic started to fill the apartment and the scents mingled tantalisingly in the air making Bakura all too aware of just how hungry he really was. He hoped that whatever Malik was making that it didn’t have a long, drawn-out cooking process like some of his other experiments.

Bakura stretched out his legs a little, taking up the full length of the couch, and shifted to make himself more comfortable as he watched another gameshow contestant lose their balance and crash into the water below. Bakura rolled his eyes; he’d taken to watching _Ninja Warrior_ in the evenings now but it was so disappointing to see how few people were able to make it across the course, and as he watched the next contestant confidently describe themselves as a bit of a gym-rat he lost hope once more. A slender frame or carefully sculpted body might look nice but it didn’t always herald great strength. Yes, they’d trained their bodies to do a set number of uniform reps on exercise machines, targeting specific bullshit muscles Bakura had never heard of before, but that was a world away from any practical reality.

His leg twitched in frustration as he watched the personal trainer misjudge his jump to the log swing and fall into the water below.

‘Oh, come on!’ Bakura shouted at the television, hearing Malik approach the living room. ‘You didn’t even try to grip it. Why would you enter if you aren’t even going to think it through?’

‘Well, I can see that you’ve had a productive day,’ Malik said dryly as he passed in front of Bakura and set a tray down on the coffee table.

Bakura craned his neck, looking around Malik’s back to see the screen so he could size up the next contest, and curled his feet up a little to give his partner a little space to sit down. The next challenger approached the course: a skinny woman who trilled happily about her desk job and how much she enjoyed her morning jogs. Not a chance.

Malik settled down in the free spot with a bowl in his lap and carefully set a small dipping saucer on the arm of the sofa before he took up his chopsticks.

‘What did you make?’ Bakura asked, reaching forward to take a bowl from the coffee table for himself.

‘Gyoza,’ Malik informed him as Bakura picked up one of the little crescent dumplings and bit it in half, chewing down on it eagerly.

His tongue immediately tingled with garlic and the deep flavours of soy sauce and he crunched down on the flavoured greens inside, the taste reminding him of his old host’s cooking. Ryou had been a fantastic chef, but if Bakura swiped a few too many meals in a row from him he’d switch to foods he knew the spirit found unpleasant, often variations on rice porridge, for a couple of weeks to discourage the habit. Malik, however, freely shared his food with him and bafflingly had done so even before they had started sleeping together. As odd as he found it, Bakura had never verbally questioned this behaviour, and had been all too happy to let Malik feed him delicious meals.

Bakura nodded enthusiastically as he threw the rest of the dumpling into his mouth and sucked the flavour of sesame oil from his fingers.

‘You should use the dipping vinegar,’ Malik said, as he delicately dipped the corner of his own dumpling into the sauce with his chopsticks and raised it to his mouth to take a bite. ‘It cuts through the saltiness.’

‘I’m good,’ Bakura said, tearing into his second, his mouth rejoicing at the tangs of ginger and the chewy dough. It was warm and filling and exactly what he needed. He held the bowl close into his chest, his eyes still fixed on the television screen, as he watched the wiry little woman jump across the tilted platforms in a frantic zigzag before reaching the safety of the other side.

‘It’s all down to the shoes they wear, not skill,’ Bakura declared irritably, as he pushed a stray strand of cabbage off his lip and back into his mouth. ‘Look at that. The grip on the sneakers is doing all the work there.’

He gave a quick glance to his side to check that Malik was watching before returning his attention to the television once more.

‘It looks punishing,’ Malik remarked as the woman lost her grip on same log that had seen off the personal trainer and belly-flopped into the pool below.

‘It’s piss easy,’ Bakura retorted as the next contestant began their run. ‘They’re just idiots. Look, that first bit you can clear if you’re fast, then just run the bridge before it spins, and when you get to the log use your whole hand to grip the handles, not just your fingers like that idiot tried to do.’

Bakura’s ears picked up as the next contestant was introduced as a freerunner and he watched their progress with interest, growing still in anticipation as the man reached the log swing. The contestant took a breath before he ran, jumping at the last moment to grab it, and kept his grip as it swung across the gap.

‘Now _he’s_ decent.’ Bakura commended as the man hopped down onto the safety of the platform and jogged to the next obstacle. ‘It’s not impossible; you just have to actually engage your brain.’

He scoffed another hot dumpling, chewing happily on the dough as the man approached two parallel walls and jumped up to wedge himself in the tiny gap between them, his shaking leg muscles the only thing keeping him suspended in mid-air.

‘Shit,’ Malik swore under his breath, as the man steadied himself and then proceeded to shuffle his way through the rift with little jumps. ‘They can’t expect him to actually clear that, can they?’

‘It’s all down to modern shoe grips,’ Bakura insisted. ‘I could do that easily. I had to make leaps and jumps like this all the time just to steal breakfast back in the day. This generation could never handle that life; everything’s so easily available to them. The world went soft while I was in that ring.’

Bakura crammed the last of the gyoza into his mouth and chewed noisily, putting the empty bowl down onto the floor.

‘This generation isn’t the only thing that’s gone soft,’ Malik laughed, giving Bakura’s stomach a gentle prod and earning himself a quick swipe across his hand. Malik took his hand back returning to watching the television once more.

Bakura shot him a dirty look but glanced back at his own stomach, tapping it gently with his finger while Malik was distracted and noticed that the touch easily dimpled the skin where he poked. As soft as fucking butter. When had that happened?

‘I still fit into my jeans,’ he snapped defensively. ‘It’s not like I’m getting fat.’

‘Not fat,’ Malik agreed, swirling half a gyoza in the saucer to coat it. ‘But you’ve lost the muscle you once had. Your body’s just adapting to a different pace of life.’

Bakura poked at his stomach again and lightly bounced the skin frowning. Shit.

‘If it bothers you, you could exercise with me to build the muscle back up again,’ Malik offered, tearing his gaze away as the man ran straight up a wall to continue the course. ‘You should come out with me when I run; you might find it novel to see what the world looks like beyond the living room.’

‘I do leave the living room.’

‘The sofa has a permanent groove across the cushions where you lie on it each day,’ Malik pointed out.

‘Well I’m not going to the park with you,’ Bakura grumbled. ‘That thing you do isn’t _proper running_. It looks ridiculous.’

‘Then come out for a walk at least.’

‘Domino City doesn’t have anything worth walking to.’

‘I’m travelling out of the city tomorrow,’ Malik said as they watched the freerunner climb his way up a ropegrid to finally hit the buzzer and log his time. ‘I haven’t seen anything of the Kyoto region since I’ve moved here. I want to visit some of the shrines. You should come with me.’

‘If you want to visit a shrine just pick a direction and spit, you’ll hit one,’ Bakura grumbled.

‘They all have different stories and _kami_ associated with them,’ Malik said, taking the last piece of dumpling and dunking it into dipping vinegar. ‘Aren’t you a little curious about this country’s history?’

‘I’m older than any of those shrines. I’m living history and you aren’t that interested in me.’

‘You’re the one I’m asking to come with me, aren’t you?’ Malik snapped. ‘If you want to come then come, if not, stay on the couch.’

Bakura glanced over to him to match his gaze and saw something softer in the look, under the bite of the sharper words. Time had just been slipping by him as he stumbled from day to day. He was growing stagnant in his familiar routine. Exploring the outside world might actually be a good idea. It certainly wasn’t an offensive concept.

‘If it’ll shut you up,’ he said with a shrug, turning his gaze back to the television. ‘But we’d better not be leaving at the crack of dawn.’

* * *

Bakura gave a yawn and watched as Malik fiddled with his own helmet adjusting the strap under his chin. Above them powder blue was slowly melting into the pale buttermilk shades that coloured the horizon, the morning coming into being as the sun sluggishly began to rise. It wasn’t fully visible yet over the towering buildings, but its weak light threw long distorted shadows across the pavement.

The streets were empty and eerily quiet. The silence was only interrupted by the slow putter of small goods lorries making their early deliveries and the first commuters shuffling lazily through the streets. Their eyes were half closed with sleep and they instinctively headed for the sunnier sides of the street where it was warmer.

‘Got the backpack?’ Malik called back brightly as Bakura slotted in behind him on the motorbike wrapping his arms about his middle and curling his body in around him. Bakura grunted an affirmative, just happy to be close to Malik’s warmth which helped to banish the combined chill of the early dawn and Bakura’s sleep deprivation.

Malik brought the motorbike to life, the sound of the engine rudely ripping through the peace of the streets and startling a flock of nearby pigeons, before he kicked off from the curb to begin their early journey.

Malik seemed to know exactly where he was going and slipped through the streets with ease. They headed out across the bay’s bridge to the more open roads and the flatter landscape of the countryside, allowing them their first glimpse of the lush mountains up ahead. The farmers were already up to tend to their crops as the pair zipped by them, and as they drew closer to the Kyoto region the roads began to fill with morning traffic. Malik weaved his way through the vehicles, leaving them all behind, and Bakura glanced down at the speedometer. He smiled to himself as he noted that Malik was pushing on past 100 km/h, but he was keeping tight control of the bike and was able to adjust the direction with the lightest of movements.

The cool air whipping past Bakura’s face was refreshing and began to blow away the last of his lethargic desires for sleep, brightening him once more and carrying the fresh scents of grasses and the rank, earthy scents of fertilizer. He impulsively pressed his lips to the nape of Malik’s neck, the touch so light and fleeting that he couldn’t be certain if Malik had even felt it.

Their speed began to slow, though not by much, as the road started to narrow and climb up into the mountains, twisting a path along the ledges that jutted out above the steep walls of the valleys. Bakura tightened his grip around Malik as their weight was thrown from side to side to steer the bike through the dangerous bends, and Bakura swore he could feel the ripples of a quiet laugh run through Malik’s body as they continued their journey.

All too soon, Malik began to slow their speed down further as the road descended into the city of Kyoto. It was packed with square office buildings and flats, but the higher mountains on the other side could still be spied in between the taller buildings. Their surroundings became increasingly urban and traffic became denser forcing Malik to navigate their way through many side streets and shortcuts to keep them out of the gridlock.

They slipped by a number of parks offering some kind of natural relief to the concrete surroundings and, more often than not, boasting a shrine of some description, but Malik passed by them all with little notice.

‘We should stop here,’ Bakura called out, spotting a sign as they rode parallel to the park’s grounds, bordered by rows of black pines and beech trees. ‘Apparently this park has two shrines. I’m sure you won’t be able to contain your excitement.’

‘I have a specific destination in mind,’ Malik called back as he drove on past, taking them further and further out of the city. ‘We’re nearly there.’

Gradually the urban scene faded into the suburbs, and soon it was just them and the road again as Malik took them through the forested mountains on the other side of Kyoto.

‘I thought you wanted to see Kyoto?’ Bakura asked, half shouting over the roar of the engine. ‘You just went through it.’

Malik continued on regardless, finally bringing the bike to a stop in a small dusty carpark that overlooked a faded red _torii_ gate.

Bakura hopped off the bike, and carefully stretched his stiff legs whilst he freed himself of the helmet.

‘What shrine is this?’ he asked approaching the _torii_ and peering around it for a glimpse of the sacred sanctuary.

‘You won’t see it yet,’ Malik said, securing the bike before he joined him. ‘We still need to travel a bit further, but I thought you might enjoy the climb.’ He passed underneath the gate with quick, measured footsteps following the little path towards the trees and pulling an information leaflet out of his pocket. ‘Because the _torii_ is so far down from the shrine, it means that the whole mountain is sacred.’

Bakura began to follow, but first stopped momentarily as he spotted the site’s name on one of the signs.

‘A bit of a walk to this shrine?’ he called out, tramping along behind Malik, passing through to the sacred grounds of the mountain. He followed the turn of the concrete path up into the mountain’s forest.

‘It might be a hike.’

‘You didn’t tell me you were going to Atago,’ Bakura said, catching up to him. ‘It’s the highest fucking mountain in the region.’  
‘

I thought you wanted a challenge,’ Malik said, his smug tone barely concealed through his mask of innocence. ‘You were so confident when you were relaxing on the sofa last night. Prove it. We don’t have to climb the whole mountain today, but—’

Bakura glared at him. ‘If you’re planning to climb the mountain then we are climbing the whole mountain,’ he threw back. ‘I’m not having you wimp out on me halfway through.’

He strode past him powerwalking up the gentle slope, knowing deep down that it was foolish to spend his energy this way before the gradient hit, but he pushed on regardless. It was worth it just to hear Malik have to jog to catch up with him.

‘And you can take this,’ he added, slipping out of the backpack and chucking it backwards. Malik caught it easily and threw it over one of his shoulders.

‘Wanting to save your strength?’ Malik teased.

‘No, just wanting to make your life as difficult as you make mine,’ Bakura shot back with a wink, as he began to climb the initial dirt steps.

*****

The trail seemed to be nothing but stairs as it grew increasingly steeper and it wasn’t long before the tedium of the pathway began to irritate Bakura. The steps were wide and shallow, hardly taxing at this point, but they demanded a certain rhythm to their footfall and the repetitive motion soon became exhausting. The stairway was flanked on either side by hundreds of towering conifer trees. They were poker straight and standing to attention like an army of well-trained soldiers, and with all the personality of them too.

Once the initial awe of the evergreen forest had worn off, their surroundings soon felt just as monotonous as the steps. The trees were disappointingly uniform, bare of any branches save the tips of their leafy tops and overpowering the air with the scent of pine. They stood pillar like, blocking out both the view and sunlight. For the great outdoors it was frustratingly claustrophobic, and with little novelty to distract him, Bakura soon began to notice the ache that was creeping up the backs of his calves and the constant burn of his breathlessness.

The only mercy was that Malik had brought along his camera and would regularly stop to take pictures of the local fauna, allowing Bakura to catch his breath while Malik toyed with the exposure settings and experimented with different angles. Bakura stole a packet of dried apricots from one of the backpack’s compartments while Malik tried to line up a shot of the few sunbeams that had broken through the treetops to illuminate the mossy, forest floor.

‘Why do you need so many pictures anyway?’ Bakura asked, opening up the bag and fishing a dried fruit out with a curled finger.

‘I want to remember this.’

‘You might actually commit the moment to memory if you weren’t so preoccupied with taking the photo.’ Bakura retorted, throwing an apricot into the air and catching it in his mouth. It was disgustingly sweet but he welcomed the sugar gladly.

‘Are you done?’ Bakura asked pointedly as Malik stood up from his crouch and inspected the photos he taken. He playfully pointed the lens towards Bakura who scowled at him before the flash went off, leaving purple and green rectangles floating just to the sides of his vision.

‘For now,’ Malik replied, returning the camera to its case and holding out an open palm for an apricot. Bakura reached into the little packet and pulled out two, dropping them into Malik’s hand before he took a couple for himself.

They set out again, hiking past the conifers and climbing steps until a miracle happened. Slowly, the uniformity of the greenery began to break away into a tangle of varied trees and the steps evened out into a winding dirt path that traced out a safe course through their weaving branches. New scents hung in the air here as Bakura was finally able to make out the earthy scent of decaying leaves and wet mud above the fading odour of pine sap that had been clawing at this nose since they’d begun their climb.

‘We should take a water break at this statue,’ Malik decided, pointing ahead to the side of the track where a small pair of mossy, stone figures were sheltered under the burnt red canopy of a maple tree.

‘Getting tired already?’ Bakura asked, as he took a seat on a rock beside the little shrine, glancing over the flowers that had been placed before the statues, and noting with amusement that a small peg doll had been placed amidst the other offerings.

‘Only tired of hearing you wheezing in my ear,’ Malik said, freeing a bottle of water from one of the backpack’s side-pockets and taking a long, slow drink before he offered it to Bakura.

The water was warm, gently baked in its plastic container from the heat of the day, but it sated Bakura’s thirst. Hot or cold, it didn’t matter; it was wet and that’s what counted. He took greedy gulps, feeling stray drops run down his chin as it eased his dry mouth.

He finally lowered the bottle, replacing the cap as he saw Malik perusing his tourist guide in front of the little shrine.

‘Don’t bother. It won’t be in your tourist trash,’ he advised him, taking another apricot into his mouth and speaking around it. ‘It’s just a small _hokora_ shrine. They’re twelve a penny on sites like these.’

Malik crouched down in front of it, examining the symbols on the stonework and flicking through his leaflet as if it might give him a clue on interpreting its meaning.

‘It’s a couple,’ Bakura explained, pointing to each figure in turn. ‘Male and female. They protect travellers.’ Ryou had always been fascinated by _hokora_ and would never embark on a visit to any shire without first filling his pockets with small bags of rice to leave as offerings for each one he encountered. Bakura had scoffed at the habit when he’d seen Ryou continue this tradition into his teenage years, but now, looking down at the little statues, he felt a stab of nostalgia and wordlessly fished out a dried apricot and left it at the couple’s feet.

Malik raised an eyebrow but Bakura ignored him. If he was really going to climb this mountain then he’d need all the help he could get, even if it was only one of the minor _kami_.

‘We can’t rest here for too long,’ Malik said, unfolding the leaflet to reveal a map of the mountain. ‘It looks like just over halfway, but there’s still more steps coming up and it’s only going to get steeper as we—’

‘Bullshit!’ Bakura exclaimed, forcing himself to his feet to look at the guide. ‘There can’t be more steps.’

Malik handed him the map with an indifferent shrug, swapping it for the water and taking another drink. Bakura examined the pictures of the upcoming stairways peppered throughout the guide, each set looking steeper and more wearisome than the last, and looked up at Malik in disbelief.

‘Is this really your idea of fun?’ he asked. ‘Or is this some guilt thing? Are you dragging me up these steps as an act of penance or something?’

Malik gave him a bittersweet smile as he packed the water back into the backpack once more. ‘Even if it worked like that, it would only be a drop in the ocean compared to the crimes the two of us have committed.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Bakura snorted. ‘New body, fresh chance, and I’m not going to waste a day dragging it up multiple flights of stairs. If I wanted to do that I’d just walk up and down the apartment stairwell for five hours.’

He scrunched up the map and tossed the paper ball over the top of the maple tree and made for the other side of the path, climbing up the steep dirt bank and away from the trail.

‘Did that make you feel powerful?’ Malik asked sarcastically, as Bakura scrambled up the bank grabbing for the rocks and exposed tree roots to aid him.

‘Yes, it’s like Zorc himself has been reborn within me.’

‘Where are you going now?’

‘Off this tourist route,’ Bakura declared proudly as he reached the top and looked out over the virgin forest. It was truly beautiful in its disorder and grew freely, as wild and unkempt as matted hair. ‘Fuck steps, we’ll find our own way.’

Malik stared back at him for a moment and then gave an exaggerated sigh before he began to walk up the bank.

‘We’ll get lost if we’re not on the path,’ he complained half-heartedly, holding out an arm to balance himself.

‘It’s a mountain,’ Bakura said irritably. ‘You can’t get lost. It only has two directions: up and down.’

Malik didn’t respond, seemingly preoccupied with finding a suitable step to get him over the bank’s top.

‘Just use your hands; it’s much easier,’ Bakura advised, watching him as he munched on the last of the apricots. ‘It wouldn’t kill you to actually roughen them up for once.’

Malik raised his middle finger. ‘How’s that?’ he asked, pointing the gesture at Bakura as he found a root to serve as a final step and hopped up from it onto the top of the bank.

Bakura shook the packet over his palm and the last two apricots fell out. He threw one into his own mouth and held the other out in front of Malik, who hesitated a moment, glancing at Bakura’s grubby hand, before taking the fruit in his teeth. His lips gently brushed over Bakura’s fingertips, wetting them slightly as he accepted the offering. He leant back chewing thoughtfully as he looked over the forest for himself, whilst Bakura nosily crinkled the empty fruit packet up and stuffed it into his pocket.

‘Let’s get away from the path then,’ Malik said after swallowing the mouthful of apricot. He put his back to it, and strode out into the thick of the trees, ducking under a low hanging branch and negotiating his way around a rotting log, determined to play at pathfinder. Bakura followed, playfully kicking up the forest mulch with his foot and found himself more satisfied with the soft crunch of footsteps over leaves than the drilling thuds of feet over the tightly packed dirt that tourists had been trampling over for generations.

The forest came to life the further they strayed from the path: crows cawed; ferns, mosses and autumn mushrooms grew over every available surface; and the trees and undergrowth rustled with movements from nearby animals and birds. Bakura could even feel himself infected with the energy and was keen to explore further. He hopped up onto the truck of a fallen tree while Malik took out his camera to photograph a small deer stripping the bark from a nearby tree. Bakura left him to it, as he walked across the length of the tree trunk, but stopped when he saw something more exciting and hopped off the log, striding a little further up the steep terrain.

He heard Malik’s shutter click, and then a soft scuffle.

‘Shit, that scared it off.’

Bakura continued walking, determined to get a better view, but there was no mistake; it was perfect.

Branches spouted out at every angle from the trunk of the ancient tree, as if it had been struck with a multitude of spears, and each one was thick and sturdy, even where the tree shot up past the tops of the smaller ones before it. He heard the snaps of twigs as Malik approached behind him.

‘Look at it,’ Bakura said. ‘It has to be hundreds of years old.’

‘It is beautiful,’ Malik agreed, taking up the camera again to get a photo. ‘I might have been able to tell you what species it was if you hadn’t thrown the guide away.’

‘I know what type of tree it,’ Bakura said grinning to himself. ‘It’s a climbing tree.’

‘What?’

Bakura didn’t wait to elaborate but instead ran at the tree, jumping up to land his foot on a knot that blistered out from the rough trunk and springing forward to get his arm around one of the boughs. He gripped it quickly with his free hand before he fell. Cursing under his breath his legs dangled uselessly down. Bakura kicked in mid-air as he pulled his chest up onto the thick branch and finally swung a leg up to join it.

‘I thought we were climbing a mountain not a tree,’ Malik called up after him as Bakura pulled himself up to a second branch and reached out for his third. The trunk was full of helpful knots and kinks to place a foot or hand when needed, and after the initial bough, there was always a strong limb within each reach. This wasn’t a tree; it was a climbing frame.

The fresh smell of camphor tingled in his nose, and, once he was higher up, he reached out across one of the branches to gather some of the dark berries, sending some loose leaves raining down to the forest floor like large, waxy, green raindrops.

Malik was still on the ground, looking up impatiently into the branches to spot him. Bakura dropped a berry down on top of him calling out ‘Head’s up, Ishtar’ as one hit him in the eye. Malik swiped the berry from his face and looked up frowning. Bakura threw another, this one bouncing off Malik’s shoulder, and waited eagerly for the counterattack. Still Malik stayed grounded.

‘Stop it,’ he warned, but Bakura was certain he could see the corner of Malik’s mouth twitch in a smile and he showered the rest of the berries down over him.

‘Make me.’

Malik made no move towards the tree. ‘You can stay up there if you want but I’m getting to the top of the mountain so I can actually see the view.’

‘You can see the view up here if you climb high enough,’ Bakura called down.

‘I’ll take your word on it.’

‘Come and see.’

‘I’d rather see it after the climb.’

Bakura frowned and began to climb back down to the lower branches. Malik wasn’t rising to his challenge at all.  
‘Well I know you’re not scared of heights if you willingly went up to Kaiba’s duelling stadium on that deathtrap of a blimp,’ he assessed lounging across the lower bough of the tree. ‘So what is it? Expensive manicure that you don’t want to ruin?’

‘If you want to stay up there you can,’ Malik repeated, turning around and starting to head back up the mountain. ‘But I’m leaving.’

Bakura watched him with curiosity before a sad thought struck him. ‘You’ve never climbed a tree before, have you?’

‘At what point in my life did you imagine me shooting up trees like a squirrel?’ Malik asked irritably, but he’d stopped walking away.

‘You can start now,’ Bakura said. ‘This is a perfect tree to practice on. A fish could climb it.’

Malik didn’t move so Bakura added, ‘You’re forcing me to climb this mountain, so I’m making you climb this tree.’

‘I just took you to the mountain. I didn’t force you to climb anything,’ Malik reminded him, but he approached the tree anyway and dumped the backpack down at its roots. ‘If I do this, you’re carrying the rucksack the rest of the way.’

‘Fine,’ Bakura agreed. ‘The trunk has a bit of a slope so you just need to—’

‘I saw what you did,’ Malik reminded him, as he prepared himself for a run up.

‘It’s simpler for you, just reach for my hand and I can help pull you up,’ Bakura said. ‘If I’m already in the tree, why make things difficult?’

Malik glanced up at him and nodded, then ran at the trunk, kicking off the base to gain enough height to grab Bakura’s wrist. He reached out for one of the stronger twigs shooting off the lower branch with his other hand.

‘Unless you want to hang there all day you might want to put your foot on that bump,’ Bakura recommended nodding down to a scale of bark that jutted out from the tree.

‘I was going to do that anyway,’ Malik assured him, getting his foot in place so he could use his leg strength to help Bakura pull him up onto the branch, albeit with a lot of frantic scrambling and swearing on both ends. The two sat for a moment panting as they enjoyed their small victory.

‘That one’s the most difficult,’ Bakura said. ‘After that you just…’

He stopped talking as Malik stood and reached up to take a grip of the branch above his head, pulling himself up towards in it a shaky chinlift, before quickly releasing an arm and throwing it over the tree limb, wedging it under his armpit to stop himself dropping down.

‘Now you’re just showing off, you bastard,’ Bakura called up at him as Malik got his second arm over and kicked to swing a leg up.

‘You won’t get to the top before sunset at that rate,’ Malik called back down at him as he carefully rose to take a hold of another branch.

Bakura smiled; now that was more like it. He hopped up onto his second branch, gaining height in small increments and relying on speed and momentum to carry him from branch to branch. It was a tactic he knew worked, especially higher in the tree when he needed to be able to bounce over the more unstable tree limbs that threatened to crack if they bore a significant weight for any length of time.

He climbed higher, feeling adrenaline flood his system. It had been so long since he’d had a high like this, and he could feel the weight of his efforts on his body. His palms itched from grazes and fiction burns off the rough bark, and he could feel the warning stings of a stitch forming in his side, but he pushed on; nothing was going to stop him. He was finally putting his body to use and felt a return to form, perhaps not quite the bitter thief king, but maybe something else: full of that past figure’s vitality, but light and freer.

He judged that he had climbed high enough and picked out the perfect branch to sit on. With a roll of his aching shoulders, he rested his back against the tree and curled a foot up underneath himself. He allowed a leg to hang down, swinging freely as he watched Malik make the final part of his climb. He’d slowed on the higher branches, testing each one with a shove to check if it might support his weight and hesitating if it wobbled.

‘Just use it as a stepping stone to get to this branch,’ Bakura advised. ‘It’ll take your weight for a moment and this branch is stronger.’

‘Strong enough to hold the two of us?’

‘Just get up here.’

Malik pulled himself up, and quickly leapt to Bakura’s branch, hanging both feet over the edge as he seated himself down. Bakura playfully kicked off from the trunk to give the branch a gentle shake and Malik immediately grabbed a handful of berries from an overhanging branch and chucked them back at him. He shot him a dirty look, but Bakura nodded behind his shoulder.

‘Have you seen the view yet?’

Malik turned around and grew still as he finally spotted it. Green hills and mountains overrun with trees stretched out before him, a line of silver cutting through it as the river’s waters shone with the light of the noonday sun. Kyoto’s city sat burrowed away in the middle of its mountainous green nest, its varying shades of grey as visually busy as a crumpled newspaper.

It was difficult to imagine that they’d been driving through that very city only a couple of hours ago, dwarfed by the buildings and looking up at the sweeping hills of forest on the city’s edge with awe. His eyes picked up little movements of buses and lorries on the roads that stretched out like veins over the city, traversing them just as they had done this morning. Bakura wondered how many of the drivers were looking up to where they were now.

‘What do you think?’ Bakura asked.

‘I think it’s the greatest sight I’ve ever seen,’ Malik said softly, turning around.

His hair was slightly dishevelled from the exercise, his usual bangs hanging limp from the humidity and swept up behind his ears, there was a smudge of dirt running down his cheek and his top was rumpled with a few of the buttons having come loose during this climb and exposing the tawny skin of his chest.

‘I can think of one greater,’ Bakura mumbled, and drew in a little closer. Malik hesitated a little uncertainly as his eyes scanned his face to read him, and then leant in taking Bakura’s face in both hands to kiss his lips. He slipped a little on the branch as he made to move his body closer, but Bakura kept an arm about his waist to make sure he didn’t fall and kept a tight grip on the tree. Bakura gently sucked on Malik’s top lip, tasting the sweetness of the earlier apricots and felt the tip of Malik’s tongue give a teasing flick over his own mouth, antagonising him and inviting him to explore deeper as his fingers buried themselves in Bakura’s hair. Soon he forgot that they were in the tree or that anybody else might be walking through the forest. There was only Malik and his hungry kisses.

With one last kiss they broke apart and Bakura dipped in to affectionately rub the tip of his nose against Malik’s before he shifted backwards to rest his back on the tree trunk. Malik shifted himself and leant against Bakura’s chest as they watched the progress of a little train as it snaked its way around the mountains, little puffs of steam rising up from its funnel.

‘Come on, we still have this mountain of yours to climb,’ Bakura said as the train disappeared from view.

He carefully untangled himself from Malik and slipped down from their branch to twist his way around the tree’s limbs to bring himself down again. Malik remained to take on last look at the view before he glanced down to watch him, swinging a leg over the branch and then hesitating. Bakura glanced back up and could see that Malik’s climbing was now more careful and slower as he reached out for a hold on the tree’s bark and looked all about him for a place to step down. Bakura pushed himself up a little higher to see his problem.

‘Keep an arm on the branch and put your foot here.’ He reached his hand up from underneath Malik’s target branch and patted part of the trunk.

‘I was just about to do that,’ Malik assured him as he followed Bakura’s advice.

Bakura grinned at Malik’s protests.

‘And then I’d put your other foot here.’

‘I was in the process of doing that.’

‘Then you want to get down to this branch—’

‘I don’t need your help.’

‘You looked lost.’

‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’

‘Why, are you a seasoned treeclimber?’

‘It’s a child’s activity; you hardly need a degree to do it.’

As Malik started to get back into the rhythm of climbing his confidence grew and he began to slowly, but steadily, feed his body down through the lattice of branches. Bakura remained nearby, offering a cheeky critique of Malik’s tree climbing ability.

‘I wouldn’t have put my foot there,’ Bakura said as Malik started to lower himself down to the final bough. ‘If it were me I’d wedge my toe in that groove instead.’

Malik adjusted his step putting his foot where Bakura had suggested and slipping down to his side. He wiggled his shoe free of the trunk.

‘I was going to do that anyway,’ he assured Bakura, as he crouched down to look at the forest floor. Bakura dropped down with little thought, groaning as he hit the ground, a little harder than intended, on his hip, and allowed himself a moment to just lie back in detritus. His calves and thighs were burning from the exertion, his bare arms were scribbled with bright red scratches and his shoulder twinged in complaint from when he’d twisted it a little too far. He closed his eyes listening to the sound of his pulse racing in his ears, and taking comfort in the sensation of his hammering heartbeat and the aches that ran through his muscles, feeling connected to this body for the first in a long time.

A thud at his side announced that Malik was back on firm ground too, and he heard him curse under his breath. He opened an eye lazily to watch him as Malik complained about a stray pinecone he had landed on from a nearby pine tree and rubbed at his shoulder to help with the agony.

‘Your landing needs work.’

Malik chucked the pinecone in Bakura’s direction and the two grinned at each other, their chests rising and falling in time as they caught their breaths back. Malik preened a little at the hair around his face, seemingly unaware of the mulch and browning leaves caught in the back of it.

‘You might want to put your mouth here,’ Bakura suggested, touching his own lips with his fingers as he gave a cheeky grin.

Malik pushed himself over to his side and leant over him, his blond hair cascading down about his face.

‘I was going to do that anyway.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and as always any review or comments are always greatly appreciated. ^^
> 
> A big big thanks is owed to both the fantastic lily-liegh who very kindly beta read this for me and encouraged me all through writing it, and to the marvellous noussommeslessquelettes who helped inspire this when we talking about post-canon thiefshipping HCs. This honestly wouldn’t have existed without these two and I sincerely recommend their blogs to anyone with a tumblr account. : D


End file.
